


Witnesses

by Saereneth



Series: Recovery isn't Easy [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saereneth/pseuds/Saereneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were all there when Project Freelancer unspooled. They survived the chaos of the break-in, the firey crash of the Mother of Invention. Afterwards, they scattered, taking anything they knew about what went wrong with them to the edges of the galaxy.</p>
<p>Tracking them down to get witness testimony, it turned out, was a job and a half. She didn't get paid enough for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Agent York

“You’d think a guy in golden armor would be easier to find.”

If it weren’t for the energy shield between them, she might have been worried about the shotgun pointed at her face. She still wasn’t thrilled, but at least she wasn’t in imminent danger of dying.

“Now, Agent York,” she started, spreading her hands out in front of her. “I’m not here to cause you any more trouble. The Director of Project Freelancer is under investigation, and my job is to collect witnesses.” 

It was hard to say, through the helmet, but if asked to guess she’d say his face wasn’t showing any less suspicion now than before. The shotgun certainly hadn’t moved, though it also hadn’t fired yet. Best to show her hand, so she could determine quickly whether she was going to have to shoot her way out of this encounter, too. The former Freelancers were a paranoid and gun happy lot.

Given what the investigation had suggested so far, she supposed she couldn’t blame them.

“Look,” she said, shifting her stance to one she hoped was more welcoming. “We’ve heard a lot of rumors about serious ethical violations, including abuse of an Artificial Intelligence System. What we don’t have is the hard evidence we need to do anything. If the records of your interactions with A.I. are correct, and you have information confirming that those rumors are even a little bit true, you’ll at least hear me out.”

The silence hung for a moment, making her itch to move. She didn’t want to startle the man, though, since they needed his testimony to get anywhere. Also, there was still a shotgun pointed at her face, and that made her nervous, energy shield be damned.

Finally, the shotgun barrel lowered, not all the way, but enough to be obvious for the concession it was. “Fine,” the man, Agent York according to her information, bit out. “But not here. Meet me at the Knob at 1900 and we’ll talk there.”

It was a risk, for sure. He could run and disappear again, making her report yet another delay to her superiors. As a long-serving intelligence officer, however, she did understand. He had no way of knowing what her intentions were, nor whether there were others with her. Better to meet in the open, in a bar surrounded by people as likely to fight and win as as they were to cooperate with any incoming force, official or not. The melee that would follow any perceived violence was what made places like the Knob so popular for under the table “business.”

“Alright,” she said, reaching one hand slowly down to her flank, the other raised in a placating gesture. “1900 at the Knob.” Slipping open one of the smallest (and most ubiquitous across models) compartments in her armor, she grabbed a data chit and slowly handed it to him. “That contains my record, as well as a summary of the charges being brought against the Director. I’ll see you later.” With that, she backed out the entryway of the small complex, feeling inordinately pleased when no bullets followed her. So far, Agent York had been much more promising a lead than any of the others.

Then again, that wasn’t saying much. Agent Wyoming had shot at her, Agent Maine had shot down the entire building before she’d even gotten in his line of sight, and Agent South Dakota was conveniently out on missions every time she was on site to do interviews. She had an appointment made to speak with the newly instated Recovery One, but she’d been warned that talking to him would be like trying to get information out of a brick wall. 

She didn’t know what made these people so loyal to the Director, but even two weeks of interviews on the Mother of Invention had gotten her nowhere. She’d suggested to her superiors that some of the rogue agents might be willing to talk, but if she didn’t get anywhere with Agent York she’d most likely be pulled from the field before narrowing her leads on Agent North Dakota. Her superiors had made it quite clear that if no real evidence surfaced soon she would be moved to another case, no matter how horrific the Director’s theoretical crimes might be.

\-------

There were times when she missed working in the white collar division of Investigations. Sure, the politics were suffocating, but at least when she went digging for information, she didn’t always wind up in shitholes like the Knob. It was a place where a person could make any number of illegal trades with unlicensed mercenaries, pilots with untraceable ships, and dealers of all sorts of things. If she weren’t looking for information and thus trying not to draw attention to herself, she could probably arrest everyone in the room for something. Granted, if she tried she’d almost certainly be killed; she was good, but everyone at the bar was dangerous and armed. The only thing that kept people alive here was the fact that if one person started shooting, everyone else would follow. There were places like it everywhere in the galaxy.

After obtaining something electric green and alarmingly sour but not alcoholic at the bar (people come here to drink, do you want to draw attention to yourself? her mentor had asked once), she chose an empty table near the middle of the room, hoping to make it easy for Agent York to find her. To entertain herself in the interim, she watched the other people in the bar, imagining what brought each of them to the Knob.

She’d just decided the woman in the screaming red bodysuit was a merc of some sort, and also possibly a prostitute, when the golden armor at the doorway caught her eye. She gave an internal sigh of relief; it wouldn’t have surprised her if he hadn’t shown. He knew how to blend in as well, heading to the bar without even looking at her and spending several minutes talking to red bodysuit before taking his order and clunking down at her table.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for an electric pucker sort of woman,” he said while saluting her with his dull red drink. 

“What can I say,” she replied. “There’s nothing like battery acid to keep a girl awake at night.” The chuckle he gave at that was endearing, and she found herself wondering what this man would be like if he hadn’t gone rogue, if he’d stayed in the Marines instead of being recruited to the ill-fated Project Freelancer.

“So,” he said, looking at her with his single good eye. “Seems like you’re dealing with a pretty nasty organization, at least judging from the data you had.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” she replied. “Unfortunately, we’ve not been able to get any hard information proving that they’re bad business. They’ve done a good job covering their tracks.”

For all that he had avoided detection for several years since leaving Project Freelancer and was clearly comfortable in mercenary scenes like the Knob, Agent York’s body language was remarkably expressive. She didn’t think he’d make much of a spy. At the moment, he looked profoundly tired.

“No kidding,” he replied. “I’ve been trying to track them down since I left. How are you planning to pin them down, exactly?”

“I can’t, yet,” she replied, shifting in her chair. “I’m hoping you and your partner can change that.” It was a risk bringing up the A.I.; she didn’t know if Agent York still had the Delta unit, nor did she know how he’d react to her mentioning it. As she waited, she figured it was a good sign he hadn’t attacked her yet. He was also better at controlling his body language than she’d given him credit for. She could see his nervousness, the inward turn of his eye that raised her hopes that the A.I. was still around, but she doubted it would be noticeable to anyone who hadn’t spent as much time training as she had.

After a few minutes, he finally seemed to relax. “What would you want from us, if we did agree to help you?”

“Anything you can give me. Names, places, mission details… your impressions of the program, what made you leave… I’ll admit, we’re shooting in the dark, here. So far, everyone we’ve talked to has given us the same generic information.”

“Other than my being a nice guy, what reason do I have to help you?”

“After we’re done, I can help you really disappear, and make sure no one comes after you.” Making people disappear had always been a specialty of hers, and there was nothing quite so satisfying as doing in for a good cause.

“And if I’m interested, what would I do? Follow you out of here and just leave everything behind?”

“Not necessarily. I’ve given you a secure channel for contacting me, and I can give you some time. Not too long, though, I am on a timetable.” 

“That’s understandable, I suppose.” Agent York frowned slightly at her, seeming to weigh his options again. 

“Can you give me three days?”

That was longer than she’d hoped to be on this planet, but not impossible. “Three days,” she agreed. “You’ll contact me when you’re ready? Providing you don’t try to bring a tank, my ship can hold anything you want to bring along.”

The man cracked a smile at that, and she thought to herself that he must have been stunning, before the Project had worn him down. “I travel light, fair lady,” he replied, still smiling. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” With that, he finished his drink, set the glass on the table and headed out the door.

She smiled to herself, still trying to finish her ghastly drink. Agent York seemed likeable. She just hoped he truly intended to contact her rather than skip town.

It was going to be a long three days.


	2. Agent Texas

As it turned out, she only had to wait 17 hours before getting an incoming ping on her secure console. 

After checking the lines for any listeners, she sent a confirmation ping and opened the channel.

“Hello there,” Agent New York’s voice rang out. She noticed he didn’t mention her by name; smart man, not trusting even a secure channel. “I’m going to need to meet you again, there’s been a complication.”

Not what she wanted to hear.

“What kind of complication are we talking about, exactly?”

“The complicated kind.” She snorted, unamused. “I know, I know. Since I’m the one doing the asking, you choose the time and place. Within reason, of course.”

Again, smart move, trying to make her feel safer by letting her choose the venue. Honestly it made her more suspicious, but she didn’t have a lot of other options.

“Fine,” she started, “1700, the Italian Job, no armor.” She wanted to at least lower the odds of a setup by putting them in a nicer area.

“Taking me out to a respectable instituti-” Agent York’s voice cut off suddenly, making her wonder what exactly was happening on the other end of the line. He came back quickly, allaying most of her fears. “Sorry, no can do. The armor stays on.”

Smells like a trap, she thought to herself. 

“We can meet you near the park under the light rail,” his voice continued. “It’s not terribly populated, but it is well lit at night.”

“I’m sorry, did you say we?”

She heard a quick, cutoff curse just before a female voice cut through the channel. “Yes, it’s we, but there are only two of us. I’m in kind of a hurry, but this dumbass thinks I should talk to you, and given what he’s shown me, I think he’s right. We’ll meet you at the park at 2100.” The line cut off abruptly.

Great, she thought, shutting down the console and leaning back in her seat. Do I walk into something screaming trap, or do I lose my only lead? Great choices all around.

\---------

Ultimately, she couldn’t let potential information walk away. She scouted the area around the meeting point several hours before she’d been told to arrive, finding that it was, indeed, fairly open and well lit despite being nearly abandoned. After looking around for a while, she found a spot with a view of most of the park that put her back against the light rail, making it difficult to approach her from behind. Then all she had to do was wait.

When she saw York walking towards her alone at the designated meeting time, she was on high alert. Where was the owner of the female voice?

“Good evening, Agent,” York greeted her as he approached. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

“Where’s your friend?” 

“No greetings for me? I’m hurt!” Before she could tell him to cut the crap, a figure in black armor shimmered into existence next to Agent York.

“Cut the crap, York,” the female voice from earlier said. She smiled behind her visor, deciding that if they didn’t try to kill her, she was going to like this woman in black.

“And who might you be?” 

“Who’s asking?”

“I am.”

“And you would be…”

“Ladies, ladies,” York cut in, interrupting what could have been either an extremely entertaining or extremely violent (or possibly both) game of chicken between the two women. “Let’s try to be civil, we all want the same thing here.”

“And what would that be, exactly?”

“To see the Project bleed, of course. Agent Texas,” he said, gesturing to the woman in black who now looked ready to kill him, “recruited me to help her bring down the MoI, I thought I’d return the favor and recruit her help in hopefully bringing down its Director.”

So this woman was Agent Texas. She hadn’t been able to find much information on the last Freelancer added to the Project, and what she had found seemed incomplete. There was nothing on her before Project Freelancer, very little about her during the program, and even less once she went rogue. It was almost as though Agent Texas was a ghost.

After a few hours talking with both Agents, she realized that analogy wasn’t actually far from the truth.

\-----------

The negotiations took longer than either she or her superiors would have liked, but eventually the three of them came to an agreement. Agent Texas would give her a copy of the data she’d received from the deceased Agent Connecticut, as well as providing a recorded testimony of her experiences and unique understanding of the Project. In return, she would help Texas and York break into a complex to steal information from Agent Wyoming. Her superiors hadn’t been terribly excited about that part of the plan, but she’d convinced them… mostly by not giving them any details.

Truth be told, she wouldn’t mind an opportunity to pay the man back for shooting at her when she’d tracked him down before.

The final part of the plan was the riskiest, but she was fairly confident they could pull it off. She’d had to explain to the former Freelancers that, despite their Director’s claims to the contrary, it actually was possible to make a copy of an A.I. Just not a good one.

Copying the Delta unit was the only way they could pull off their plan though, since Agent York was adamant about not leaving it behind. 

The plan was to load the A.I. copy into Agent York’s original armor and fill that armor with enough biomass and genetic material to pass for York’s body after an explosion. The real Agent York, in an identical set of armor, would get “injured” during the infiltration, after which Tex and Delta would convince anyone present that York was dead. Once clear, they could dump the armor and the copied A.I., activate the recovery beacon that would call command, and Agent York would disappear.

She was banking on the fact that none of the recovery efforts she’d reviewed so far had done more than store the A.I., if present, and blow up the armor suit with its Freelancer still in it. The copied A.II. would hold up for a while, perhaps even a few weeks, but it would eventually begin degrading, so if it was inspected too carefully by the recovery team, there would be suspicions. 

They were risks she would have to take. York had made it very clear that he would not be separated from Delta.

Agent Texas would leave them from the compound. When York asked why she wouldn’t come with him into witness protection, Texas had said she had unfinished business. Again, it wasn’t what she or her superiors would have chosen, but they could hardly force Agent Texas into their custody. 

She would leave the two agents with her superiors for a few days, to get all the supplies together and to fit Agent York with replacement armor. In the meantime, she had an interesting opportunity back at the main Freelancer compound. Agent South Dakota had actually contacted her asking to speak with her. She’d been trying to pin down South Dakota for weeks, and suddenly the woman wanted to talk. She figured whatever happened should be interesting.


	3. Agent South Dakota

Agent South Dakota had spent most of her life in roles and positions where she was half of a package deal, half of “The Twins.” Even as adults, she and her brother had been deployed together, eventually becoming North and South Dakota. Even at the height of her career, she’d never been viewed on her own merits.

She hated it. 

Most people thought that she hated her brother for weighing her down. Sometimes she did, but in her heart she knew that North was just as trapped in The Twins as she was. The only difference was that he liked it, was comforted by the knowledge that someone was always at his side. As far as she knew, the only nightmares North had ever had were about being alone.

When she was younger, South had loved it too. There was security in being half of a whole, knowing that her brother would always have her back. It was only later as they advanced through the ranks that she began to resent their constant togetherness.

North and South had very different talents on the battlefield. North was quiet and stealthy, she was loud and destructive. North was precise while she whirled like a tornado, destroying anything in her way. When they’d first been deployed, North’s hand-to-hand had been horrible; it was only after years of missions with South that he’d developed skills in melee in addition to his raw talent for ranged combat.

There was nothing that would make South stealthy. She tried, initially, but her complete lack of talent for subtlety mixed with her hatred of waiting quickly taught her to apply herself elsewhere. She was good in melee combat, and had the ability and the desire to be great.

The Director of Project Freelancer had pinned her and North together in stealth missions. 

She’d been furious to be shuffled along with her brother like she was his luggage. She’d had a brief flash of hope when the leaderboard system began; agents were ranked based on their total skill, so she’d hoped if she glowed in melee and combat, she’d finally be recognized for her skills and given assignments accordingly.

She’d been reckless trying to prove herself, she knew. But how could she not, when her kill counts were nearly at Maine’s level, at least when she was finally allowed into combat situations… still, her spot on the board seemed to be judged by how well she could do jobs meant for her brother. Without North, it seemed, there was no South.

What she couldn’t understand was how the Director still judged her on her brother’s metrics, even after North had been AWOL for almost two years. She’d proven herself time and again protecting the Project’s resources from mercenaries, pirates, and even their own rogue agents. Of the original Freelancers, South was the only remaining agent loyal to the Director.

She was still second best, though. She stared at her new assignment papers while she sat in her shitty quarters on a shitty planet. ‘Recovery Two,’ the papers said. She would be playing second fiddle to Agent fucking Washington, who’d literally just stepped out of the loony bin and into the Director’s good graces.

Recovery Two, apparently, would be running stealth and reconnaissance missions. 

Fuck it, she thought to herself. I’m done with this shit. 

There was a summons sitting on her desk she had yet to answer. It was time to see what the UNSC wanted from her, and what they were willing to do to get it.

\------------

The UNSC investigative officer was a good looking woman, South though to herself. Long black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, showing off the woman’s sharp Asian-heritage features combined with oddly pale skin. Her most striking feature, though, was the pale grey eyes that seemed to cut through South as soon as she walked in the door. South almost found herself wishing the woman wasn’t covered from the neck down in slate grey armor--it would be nice to see the rest of her.

“Good afternoon, Agent South Dakota,” the woman said, looking at her steadily. “I understand you wanted to speak with me?” 

“Yeah,” South responded, striding forward to sprawl herself into a chair. “You said this shit is kept confidential?”

“Of course,” the officer said, leaning forward and sculpting her face to seem earnest. She was good at her job, South had to give her that. “Any testimony given during the investigation of Project Freelancer will be kept strictly in confidence by myself and the investigative counsel. If, for any reason, you believe your testimony may put you in danger, we have experienced witness protection officers who can move you to a safer location.”

Now that was an interesting offer. Not that she was interested in a “safer location,” but she knew someone who might be.

“What information is your investigation looking for?”

“The charges brought against the Director accuse him of mishandling and mistreating UNSC property, disregard for the safety of civilians and his own personnel, and unethical treatment of an artificial intelligence unit.”

“Only one A.I.? Which one?”

The officer stared at her with an unreadable expression. “Agent South Dakota, Director Church was only granted the use of one artificial intelligence unit for his research with Project Freelancer.”

“Well he must have gotten more somewhere, though he never did get enough to go around, and after Agent Washington everything stopped completely.”

“I haven’t yet spoken to Agent Washington--I understand something went wrong during his implantation process?”

“Hell if I know. I just know he was fucked up after--they certified him Article 12 and dumped him in a loony bin right after everything went to shit. Last I saw him, he was crying like a girl and talking to the ceiling.”

“He is being reinstated, is he not? I believe in response to the ‘Meta’ threat and the increased number of Freelancer troops being found dead?”

“Yeah,” South scoffed, keeping her face neutral. To be honest, she was bothered by Washington’s return for more than one reason. If the Director thought the threat Maine posed was great enough to send a mental patient into the field, what did that mean for her brother? He would have no warning, no idea that he was in danger. “Reinstated as ‘Recovery One,’ not a bad promotion from total psycho.”

“Indeed. You are also being reassigned to the Recovery unit, are you not?”

South was kind of starting to hate this woman, for all that she was attractive. She wasn’t as bland as the Counselor, but she did seem to share his love of asking questions she didn’t want to answer.

“Yeah,” she said again, glowering. “Reassigned to hunt down a giant murder-happy freak with a huge-ass knife and an anger management problem, under the command of a guy who talks to walls and hasn’t seen action in two years. It’s gonna be great.”

“Well, as I said before, Agent South Dakota, I can have you relocated if you wish. We would need to discuss in more detail what you know about the multiple A.I.s used by the Project, of course, but afterwards we could ensure your safety elsewhere.”

South narrowed her eyes at the woman, still not interested in getting locked into some cushy safe-zone. Her other prospects were also shit, though: reassignment as Recovery Two, playing nice with Agent Fucked-in-the-Head while hunting down an incredibly dangerous and equally crazy Maine? Thank you, no. 

She also dreaded the idea of having to respond to her brother’s recovery beacon, or worse, having to confront him again for the sake of the Project. She’d done that once and lost everything of him except an emergency contact frequency that neither of them had used. She had every reason to believe that the next time she saw North would be while disposing of his body.

So. She could choose to stay, filling her brother’s empty shoes at the Project and probably getting herself and her brother killed in the process, or she could play house in witness protection. 

When trapped between two options that sucked, South had always gone for option C. It didn’t always go her way, but it was better than sitting on her ass waiting for a better opportunity.

“What if I could get you another witness and a chance to talk to one of the Project’s old A.I.s?”


	4. Agent North Dakota

North had always been a glass-half-full kind of guy. It had always annoyed his sister and had made him the butt of more than a few jokes. He’d always thought it was worth it, though, for the occasional smile he could bring out from a friend.

 

Even he was having trouble finding things to smile about, these days.

 

After their failed attempt to rescue Alpha from the Project he, Texas, and York had scattered in different directions to make it more difficult for the security forces to find them. Tex never made it to their agreed upon rendezvous point, and he’d lost contact with York after a brief encoded message confirming his survival and explaining that he’d have to lay low for a while. He’d promised to send coordinates for an alternate meetup soon, and North still checked the frequency daily, but had heard nothing.

 

It had been over 18 months. North hadn’t been able to find any trace of his friends, even with Theta’s help. He had no idea if they were even still alive, and the continuing radio silence was not encouraging. Those who had left the Project with him were MIA, his sister was his enemy now, and even if he knew where Washington was being kept, his chances of a successful rescue were nil without backup.

 

He’d be lying to himself if he said the helplessness and loneliness weren't getting to him. He’d always reveled in the presence of others, in the comfort of knowing someone had his back. Even being the sounding board for the troubles of others had calmed him--he didn’t have to think about his own issues if he was solving someone else’s. The long stretches with no one but Theta to talk to were wearing him down. He knew he wasn’t in top form physically, mentally, or emotionally, and unfortunately Theta fed off his ill-ease, getting more nervous every day. For the first time since Theta’s implantation, North wondered if it might do them both some good it he pulled the A.I. for a night. He knew he wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do that to Theta, but he wondered how much longer he could go barely sleeping before something went very wrong.

 

It was almost surprising how well Theta had adapted to socializing with others once they left the confines of Project Freelancer. He'd been shy at first, but had opened up without the rules keeping A.I. from talking to each other. Delta and Theta had been surprisingly well-matched, developing a friendship nearly as close as their Freelancers had. Both A.I.s had also become close with Texas during their time on the run, their shared grief and confusion upon learning their origin drawing them into a friendship no one would have predicted. North had been so proud of Theta learning to trust the others and make friends, but they were both paying for it now in loneliness and worry.

 

In the part of his mind that North kept tucked away from Theta, he knew that Theta’s constant, cycling worry about their friends was driving them both mad. They’d been traveling in heavily wooded regions on their current planet, trying to interact with the local wildlife--Theta seemed to like nature, and that helped with the anxiety. Sometimes North could even catch some sleep, though nothing like when Theta and Delta interacted all night. It was something, though, enough to take the edge off.

 

North just didn't know if it will be enough to keep them ahead of whatever was hunting them.

 

_________

 

Theta was telling him about the pairbonding rituals of this planet’s deep forest quail when they suddenly received a hail on their emergency frequency. North had to check it twice, and Theta checked fully seven times to make sure it was the frequency he thought it was. The frequency he’d set up with South years ago, in case anything went bad. He’d kept his end open, but he’d never checked to see if she’d done the same. He wasn’t sure anything he could say wouldn’t make her more angry, and he wasn’t brave enough to try. But now, finally, his sister was calling him. Now that the moment was there, he thought she could say anything, and he would just be happy to hear her voice.

 

“North,” Theta reminded him, creeping through his thoughts carefully. “It could be a trap. You did not leave on good terms with South.”

 

North sighed through his nose. Theta wasn’t wrong, but he couldn't believe that South would use this frequency to betray him. He also knew that their options were running out, and if he had no good options, he’d choose the one that let him speak to his sister at least one more time.

 

They accepted the incoming transmission, cutting in on a hailing broadcast

 

“Mark North, this is Agent South Dakota, do you copy?”

 

“This is North, I copy. Is the line secure?”

 

“As secure as UNSC witness protection encoding can get it, Hans.” Neither of them missed the nasally pronunciation of his name, or the old jokes it brought to mind. North couldn’t help but smile, even as he chastised her.

 

“It’s Markus, Lena, honestly. Didn’t you get enough fun out of my first name in primary school?”

 

“Mark, there can never be too much fun when your brother is sasquatch tall with arms and legs everywhere and his name is Hans.”

 

They laughed, both of them sounding almost like they’d forgotten how. North was grateful when it stopped.

 

“So, witness protection encoding?” He asked over the comm. “What’s going on over there, did they invite the mafia into the Project now?”

 

He heard her snort, then a thump in the background that he guessed would be a beverage of some sort. “Honestly Mark, they probably had the Mafia in here all along. Who the fuck knows, I don’t really care. I just know they’re offering to relocate and protect people willing to testify against the project, and I thought of you.”

 

“So you’re not--” North cut himself off there, trying to remind himself not to be what Texas had called a condescending ass. “I’m glad you thought of me, I’d certainly like to hear more.”

 

This time a short sigh bursts through the comm followed by a pause. He could practically see her pulling at her hair and making faces trying to decide what she wanted to say.

 

“Look, North,” she said, switching back to codenames. “I think this investigator is the real deal. She’s been asking questions about A.I. abuse, equipment malfunctions… right now she’s trying to figure out where the Director got all the A.I., given that only one was ever approved for the Project.”

 

Theta shuddered in the back of his head. They knew, after Tex gave them Connie’s documents. It still gave them nightmares.

 

“I figure since you’ve gone quiet that you and Theta know something about that.” South paused, clearly thinking through her next words carefully. “I think you should talk to this investigator and take the protection, North. Something has been hunting Freelancer personnel and property, and whatever it is has left a trail of bodies in its wake. You need to take this investigator’s offer and get the hell out of dodge.”

 

That confirmed the feeling he’d been having that he was being hunted. It wasn’t a validation he wanted to hear, but it was nice to know he wasn’t entirely losing his mind.

 

“What about you, Lena? I’m guessing this thing will be after you, too. Will you be coming into protection as well?”

 

“Nah, I’m not a sit-tight and safe kind of girl, Mark, you know that. I got two options on my plate, as I see it. I stay with Project FuckedLancer and work to recover whatever’s left after this thing comes through an area… all while reporting to the Freelancer poster boy Agent Washington-”

 

“Wash is okay? He’s alive?”

 

“Well, he’s definitely alive. Okay I think is stretching it a lot… he was still screaming at walls last time I saw him four months ago, but they’ve apparently cleared him for field duty as my commanding officer, so… you can buy that for a dollar.”

 

“So he’s still working with them?”

 

“Yeah, and behaving himself as far as I hear. Maybe he gets gold stars for behavior these days, no one knows what happened to him after his implantation. He’s a good toy soldier for now, though. I just don’t plan on working with him.”

 

“That’s your plan two?”

 

“Yeah. Plan two is get you all protected or whatever, get my record cleared of any of this Freelancer bullshit, then get out in the field and do my work, on my own. I’ve been promised a ship, I think I’ll go see what I can do in some of the areas that are still cooling down from Covvie attacks.”

 

“South, are you sure? That sounds really dange-”

 

“I’m going to cut you off there, Markus. It is dangerous, I know that. I’m prepared for some dangerous. I’m good at this, North, I know what I’m doing, and I want to be free to actually do it. I’m sorry, but that means I need to be away from you and your motherhenning and the constant Wonder Twins side show. You’re always going to be my brother, but I have to get away from your Twin.”

 

That stung. It hurt a lot, and North felt Theta curling into the spaces in his mind that ached at the idea of his sister going it alone. As he took a breath, though, he knew that this was what she’d always wanted. A chance to be herself away from “The Twins.” It pained him to let her go, but he understood now that she needed it. The time apart (and to no small extent the time with Tex) had helped him understand how South had been suffocating as the Dakotas, and this was her chance to start over fresh. It was the best possible thing that could happen for her.

 

North hated it.

 

“You hate it, don’t you?”

 

He sighed heavily. “Yeah, Lena, I hate it. You’re my twin, like my other half. But, I think I understand it. Having it be just Theta and me on the run has made it pretty clear that being just a half is not the right way to live. I feel empty, lonely, and unfulfilled without anyone around me, and it’s not fair to you to always have to fill that gap. You deserve to live your own life, and I will figure out how to fill mine. Just… please don’t cut me out entirely? Be my sister, if not my twin?”

 

“Yeah, dumbass,” she said. He knew she was smiling, even if he couldn’t see it. “I’ll always be your sister, that’s like biologically guaranteed. Honestly, you should have paid more attention in any science class, like, ever.”

 

“They have implants for that stuff now you know.”

 

“Yeah whatever, you keep your neurotic skateboarding brain light, I think I’ll still be learning the old fashioned way.”

 

“Fuddy duddy.”

 

“Shut up. I’m sending you an information packet and another frequency with the investigator lady. You’ll get more time with her than I did, so if you get a chance, you should totally hit that.”

 

“South!”

 

“What, she’s hot! I would do it, except I’m gonna peace out in my own badass ship and get the fuck away from this drama. So, she will remain unboned, someone should bone her and I nominate you.”

 

“Good talk South. Let’s go again in another two years?”

 

“God, you are such an old lady. Packet transferred. I’ll talk to you again on the new frequency once you’ve had a chance to look at her stuff.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. Stay safe, Lena. I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Markus.”

 

 


	5. Agent South Dakota

To say that the op went off without a hitch would be… not factual.

She’d been less than thrilled when Agent York had insisted on helping with Agent Texas’ information gathering mission before coming to testify. She’d followed along to make sure he made it back--she hadn’t planned for him to get his stupid ass shot, for fuck’s sake.

She was impressed at the A.I.’s ability to imitate Agent Texas long enough for the battle to move away from the injured man. That was a useful trick, for sure.

“Tell me how bad it really is,” she grunted at the hologram, sticking another pen of biofoam into the Freelancer.

“With appropriate medical attention in the next 37 minutes, the hit will be non-lethal. Your application of biofoam has prevented a precipitous loss of blood.”

Running her fingers over the bullet hole in the back of York’s suit, she breathed a sigh of relief at the A.I.'s assessment. The Freelancer’s armor was well-kept, but it had clearly been a while since replacement parts had been in the cards, because there was a critical weakening in the shoulder joint that had allowed the bullet clean through. 

The scuff of a boot on the nearby gravel pulled her attention towards Agent Texas, who was clearly torn between pursuing her mission and checking on her former team mate. 

“How’s he doing, Delta?”

“Agent York will have a full recovery, Agent Texas. I will tell him you asked.”

The black-clad woman looked at her. “We good here?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Make sure they don’t come back, the evac flight lands in two minutes. You sure you don’t want a ride?”

Texas gave a curt nod and a wave of her hand as she walked away. “Just get him out safe.”

\----------

York couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up feeling so soft. On the run, he’d slept in his armor more often than not, so that Delta could keep an eye out for trouble. Even when he’d had to take the armor off for cleaning and repairs, he hadn’t had anything so luxurious as a matress to cushion him. Hell, most days a blanket would have been asking too much.

Waking up to dim lights with a pillow under his head and a bed under his back was cause for suspicion, to say the least. It was only Delta’s voice in his mind and another, much missed voice to his side that kept him from flying towards the door as soon as he woke.

“Easy there, York.” North murmured, easing a hand to his shoulder in view of his good eye. “You’re in the infirmary, apparently you and Texas got up to some trouble.”

York relaxed back into the bed and couldn’t help how his eyes eased shut for a moment after hearing the familiar voice. Rolling his head towards the other man, he dragged his eyes open and tried for a smile. Eighteen months was a long time to wonder if someone was alive or not.

“Long time, no see, North.” 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “Long time, no see. You’re still pretty hurt, if you want to sleep now I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

York felt himself drifting away, even as he wondered if that was true or not. Was North even there at all, he wondered? His eyes fell shut as Delta murmured in the background, reassuring him of something…

\-------

It was supposed to go down like this: York and Texas completed their reconnaissance mission with her backup while duplicate armor for North and York was fabricated off-site. Once complete, she would return with York to her main base to create a backup dumb-A.I. copy of Delta to load into the armor, along with “biological materials” provided by the medical staff. Once completed, she would return to the same planet hosting Wyoming’s base to dispose of the “bodies” which would then be recovered by Agent South. She’d ensure that the ship South used to get planetside wasn’t traceable by the Freelancer systems, and once the armor was taken care of, Agent South would be free to go on her way.

The first hitch in the plan (aside from York getting shot) came when they were loading the counterfeit armor onto a Pelican for disposal. Loud cursing interrupted the normal flow of the docking bay, followed by a crash as York, still trailing an IV line and a very concerned looking North came stumbling towards her.

“York, slow down, you’re going to reopen your wounds!” North kept trying to herd the shorter Freelancer without touching him too hard, but didn’t seem to be having much luck. She decided to take a more direct approach, since her interactions with Agent York had convinced her that anything less than a grav hammer to the face wouldn’t make the man take a hint.

“Agent York,” she said loudly, pointing her pistol at his head. “You are not authorized to be in this area. Kindly leave before I give the doctors another hole to sew up.”  
It certainly was effective at making him stop, even if it was only to glare at her. North kept a hand on York’s shoulder, looking like he was ready to jump in front of the other man at a moment’s notice.

“I have to do something before you take the armor away,” York said, not backing down at all. 

“Agent York, everything has been taken care of. Kindly go back to medical and--”

“Please,” he said quietly. He looked haunted, enough so that North stepped even closer to him, tightening his grip on York’s arm. “I need… I need to say goodbye to someone.”

Technically speaking, there wasn’t much he could do to screw up old armor with fake body parts in it, she supposed. “Fine,” she snapped, lowering her gun. “Make it quick, then get your ass back to medical. If I see you out of that bed before the doctors tell you you can go…”

The look Agent North shot her as he passed was extremely grateful, and she had to feel for them. Project Freelancer had exploded into quite the clusterfuck, and these guys looked like they’d seen some of the worst of it. Their testimonies, at least what she’d been allowed to hear, proved that point.

So if Agent York wanted to delay her operation by a few minutes to load a lighter into one of the armor compartments, she could live with it. 

\----------

Planting the armor was easy. Sometimes, when she had to plant “corpses” in populated areas things got a little hairy. This planet, though, was in the middle of nowhere, with practically no population.

That fact made it all the more frustrating when Agent Maine showed up at North’s dumpsite almost immediately. 

“Goddammit you giant fucktruck!” Agent South screamed as they ran for cover. “Take the fucking bait and get out of my face, you ugly SOB!” She shot in the general direction of her “brother,” trying to draw the giant’s attention away from them.

“Can’t you do something to distract him? Activate the armor or something?” South demanded.

“Working on it,” she screamed back, trying to get the copied A.I. booted enough to project itself. “I just need a minute!”

“We don’t have--” South’s rant was cut short by a loud alarm coming from her helmet. “Motherfucker!”  
“What now?”

“Wash is responding to York’s recovery beacon!”

“Agent Washington?” How had the leading Recovery agent gotten there so quickly? “Fuckberries…”

The copied A.I. from North’s armor chose that moment to project itself above the body’s helmet. Agent Maine’s attention immediately shifted to the armor, giving them an opportunity to escape to higher ground. They watched as the giant tore into the purple helmet for the A.I. chip, South visibly wincing when they heard the armor crack.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, putting a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Your brother will be safe, I’ll make sure of it.”

South held still for a moment before shoving her hand away. “Whatever. Just keep him away from this asshole.”

“I will...” she trailed off as Maine broke away from the body, heading away from them.

“Shit, now Wash is headed here. Fucking overachiever, he’s supposed to be too crazy for this shit.” 

Dammit. She hadn’t planned on Recovery being quite so quick to the job. “Look,” she said, turning towards South. “Your ship out of here isn’t far, we should be able to get you out of here before--”

South held her hand up, the other hand going towards her helmet. “Yes Command? I hear you, come in?”

Once her transmission was complete, Agent South turned towards her. “They’ve ordered me to meet up with Wash here. We’ll look over the site together, then head to our ships and return to base. I’ll make sure Wash doesn’t find anything weird.”

She nodded. “They did track your ship here, since this was supposed to be a routine patrol. I can trail you, make sure you get out safely…”

South was shaking her head. “I don’t need you. I can deal with this on my own. You go make sure there’s nothing incriminating left at York’s site.”

She narrowed her eyes behind her visor. Leaving someone else to finish one of her jobs didn't sit well with her, but before she could protest, an incoming transmission from her own command interrupted her.

“Seven, come in. We’ve intercepted a transmission indicating that Freelancer Command has sent additional units your way. Is this correct?”

“Yes sir, Agent Washington has been sent to recover both sets of armor. I’m here with Agent South, planning to shadow her to the escape ship.”

“Negative Seven, return to base. Your presence must not be detected.”

“I need to ensure Agent South gets safely away--”

“I can take care of myself,” South interrupted. She was really getting tired of South interrupting.

“Confirmed, return to base.”

She ground her teeth together, glaring at Agent South. If they’d had the time, she would have argued the matter--leaving an asset behind wasn’t in her playbook. With Washington’s current pace, however, they didn’t have time.

“Confirmed, command. See you back at base. This is Seven, over and out.”

“‘Seven?,” Agent South asked, staring at her. “I thought state names were dehumanizing, but damn.”

“It’s standard procedure to assign numbers to agents in the field. Low numbers means there aren’t many active agents in this area.”

“Still, that’s pretty cold.” South shrugged, seemingly moving on. “Anyways, aren’t you supposed to be leaving? I can take care of myself. Agent Washington is hardly someone to be worried about.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” South grumbled, and she could imagine the Freelancer was rolling her eyes behind the helmet. “Leave already, before you blow the whole thing.”

“Fine. It’s been a pleasure, Agent South.”

“Whatever.” They turned to go their separate ways, but before she got far South’s voice stopped her.

“Hey Seven,” South called. “Take care of my brother, got it?”

“I will, Agent South. You have my word.”


	6. "Neil Bremer," formerly Agent New York

Waking up every morning came with a jolt of fear down York’s spine, a tensing of muscles ready to fight or run as needed, an increased sense of awareness of his surroundings. Even after three weeks of living in a well-kept cabin with North on the edge of the town where they’d been relocated, York still slept with a pistol in his hand and was always surprised to find that no knives or guns were pointed at him when he woke. 

After years on the run from a powerful military organization, the quiet of the wood farming colony where witness protection had placed them was… disorienting, to say the least. Their relocation agent, "Seven," had given them several options on where to go next. It would be more risky, she’d said, to keep the two of them together, but it could still be done. 

He and North were too valuable as witnesses to be put back on the front lines of the war with the Covenant. They’d fought that; fighting for humanity was what they’d signed up to do, and York wanted to feel the camaraderie of active service again. But after all the damage the Director had done, stirring up conflict against their own people, nobody would want a former Freelancer in their squad. Even if they’d been allowed to go, they wouldn’t have been wanted. That hurt York more than he’d had time to process yet.

With the frontlines out of bounds for them and their involvement in bringing down Project Freelancer complete, where to go next really was an interesting problem. He and North had poured over the lists of worlds lacking active combat that were unlikely targets for the Covenant, trying to find somewhere that would hide them but still allow them to be useful. It had been late at night when Seven wandered in, datapad in hand.

“You guys still trying to find something good?” she asked, eyes flickering over the maps in her field of view.

“Well, since we’re supposed to lay low for a while, we’d like to find somewhere interesting where we can do some good.” York replied, glancing at North. “I don’t want to retire and sit on my ass while there are soldiers older than me getting sent into dangerous situations every day.”

“Speaking of retiring…” The woman walked up to the holoprojector holding a data chit. She inclined her head at the two men. “If I may?”

A nod from North and seconds later the holo-display was filled with a star field, its coordinates putting it near the edge of colonized space in its sector. Seven zoomed into the field until the display showed a set of three planets orbiting a relatively standard Sol-like yellow dwarf star. She zoomed in further, bring into view the green and white covered sphere of the second planet. A tap towards the planetary center brought up the basic stats. 

“Interesting set of resources, there. Lots of iron, lots of copper and silver. Lots of granite, if you’re into that kind of thing. This says their primary export is artisan quality hardwood?”

“Yeah,” Seven replied, still poking at the interface to bring up more information. “The environment is perfect for growing all the old Earther favorites--pine, cedar, birch, oak, and walnut. I guess the atmosphere is so clear they can get much more vibrant wood for construction, and the population has done a lot to make sure the industry is sustainable.”

“Why are we looking at this planet?” North wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

“Well, Agent North, this planet, whose name is Skogkledde, by the way, is home to a high concentration of retired UNSC personnel who, mostly for health reasons, chose to retire to a simpler world further from the war. There are many surrounding professionals, particularly in the capital city Regnskog, to help with recovery, like physical therapists, massage therapists, and the like. At the moment, there are very few soldiers available on the planet who can train and lead the planetary defense force, which is desperately needed to protect the planet from piracy.”

“If you’re suggesting something, Seven, why don’t you get on with it.” York stared at her, wondering if this was going where he thought it was. 

“I’m suggesting, Agent York, that you allow us to place you in witness protection on Skogkledde. While you’re there, there will be ample opportunity for you to recover from the last few years. And you might be able to do these people some good, once the situation with Project Freelancer has cooled off a bit. Fighting piracy isn’t war with the Covvies, I know, but the planets of this sector have seen some nasty things, and it’s not going to get any better unless we do something.” 

York looked down at the datapad in his hands, which was displaying stats on an inner sector shithole of a planet, then at North, who nodded slightly.

“Well, better pack your bags, North.” York said, stretching his arms over his head. “Looks like we’re moving to Skogkledde. Tell me, Seven, are all the names on this planet impossible to pronounce?”

\----------

In return for the information they’d provided on Project Freelancer and their service records from before, the UNSC had granted each of them a hefty pension, guaranteed healthcare, and a pair of fabricated identities. “North” became Markus Heidlesson and “York” became Neil Bremer. Seven had told them that keeping their original first names would make their covers easier to maintain. She’d been a little irritated by having to go back and change North’s cover from “Hans” to “Markus,” but York’s unrelenting laughter had gone a long way towards convincing her. 

“I still can’t believe your name is Hans,” York said, grinning as North handed him a cup of coffee. 

“Shut up, Neil,” the other muttered, reaching across the table for the butter. 

“I mean really, Hans. It’s like your parents knew you’d grow up to be a sasquatch living the quiet life in the galaxy’s largest year-round Santa Claus-land.” Outside the window of their artisan wood paneled honest-to-God cabin in the woods it was snowing, again.

“It’s not like this all the time, York, they do have other seasons besides winter. Pass the jam, would you?”

“Yeah, you mean like when they have a pumpkin flinging contest in the fall? Or the actual Maypole festival in the spring? There’s retiring, and then there’s being put to pasture, North. What the hell is this jam, anyways?”

“We’ve only been here three weeks, York, and we’re supposed to stay low for at least two years.” North sighed as he spread bright red jam on his probably artisanal toast. “Just because we’re not actively running for our lives doesn’t mean we’re living in a fairy tale, you saw the reports. Piracy has gone down since the latest wave of Covenant attacks in the inner sectors, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

“Yeah, at least not until we’re gone,” York muttered, stabbing his toast with the jam knife. “We should be out there helping, North, not sitting here babysitting the old-folks home.”

North’s hand shot out to grab the knife from him before he could move to stop him. York stared at the other man, suddenly reminded just how scary North could be. 

“These people are veterans, York, not invalids. They fought in the War, same as us, and now they can’t anymore, same as us.”

York deflated, pulling his hand out of North’s grasp and staring at the ceiling. North was right, at least about the people on this planet. The calm, peaceful atmosphere was carefully cultivated and maintained for traumatized war refugees and veterans, and for all the York found it suffocating, he understood the importance it held for the people of Skogkledde.

“I’m sorry, man,” he murmured, closing his eyes and sinking down into his chair. “I just… I want to be helping, not hiding. I’m tired of hiding.”

North’s sigh was his only response. He knew the other man must be feeling at least some of the same things, if the longing glances to their power armor and the hours put into maintaining his rifle were any indication. North had always been better at keeping quiet than York. Came from life as a sniper, he supposed.

“It’s called lingonberry.” The words startled York out of his musing, making him sit up and open his eyes to stare at the other man.

“What?” He asked stupidly.

“The jam,” North replied. “It’s made out of lingonberries.”

A peace offering in the form of a non-sequitor. York supposed he could roll with that.

“They taste like cranberries,” he grumbled. “Only not as good.”

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how good North sounded when he laughed.


End file.
